


the damned

by freyjaa



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Freedom, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Manipulation, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Pirates, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Repaying Debt, Romance, Slow Burn, Sparring, brooke is a princess resigned to marry for her kingdom, inspired by most pirate media but admittedly mostly sinbad, so basically: vanessa is a pirate attempting to run from her past, they're each what the other least respects, this is why they must fall in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28566939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjaa/pseuds/freyjaa
Summary: Vanessa is a renowned pirate framed for stealing the Cup of Peace by the goddess of Chaos, Willam, to whom she owes a debt. Princess Yvie, her best friend since childhood, offers to take Vanessa’s place on death row in order to give her a chance to go and retrieve the Cup to prove her innocence.Vanessa’s plan is to just flee to Fiji and away from her problems, but she soon finds she has a stowaway: Brooke Lynn Hytes, Yvie’s betrothed. She’s here to make sure Vanessa keeps her promise. She’s not here to fall in love with her, but we can’t always get what we want, can we?
Relationships: Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo
Comments: 35
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "I long and seek after" - Sappho

The envelope is heavy in Vanessa’s hands.

The paper is thick, scented with lavender, and completely foreign to touch. It’s smoother than the thin parchment she’s used to, the only imperfection a small dent from how far it must have traveled. It certainly hadn’t come from anywhere near Providence Island.

From the moment she’d touched it, she’d known this letter had come from a place of wealth. The sight of the royal seal tells her that she’d been more than right.

She’s tempted to fling it overboard. 

She’s done it with every royal arrest warrant she’s gotten before: recieve it, slide it out the window at the back of her cabin once she’s back on the ship, and blacklist the port that had given it to her. She shouldn’t be hesitating like she is - she knows the patchwork quilt of  _ The Damned’s  _ sails acts like a target painted on the back of her head, so changing ports and tossing letters has become second nature. What’s catching her off guard, however, is that this one is addressed to ‘Vanjie’.

She hasn’t been called Vanjie in years.

The handwriting is shaky, the loop of the ‘j’ almost pointed, the hand that wrote it unsure and pressing too hard as a result. Yvie never could get the hang of calligraphy, never as light and delicate as her mother wanted her to be. Vanessa’s breath catches at the memory, bursting into her mind without warning.

Vanessa hasn’t seen Yvie in twelve years. She hasn’t spoken to her for longer. A familiar, dull ache blooms in the center of her chest as she traces the loop with her fingers, her breathing shaky and her heart beating so hard she can feel it in her fingertips. 

She can’t say she regrets leaving, but if there’s one thing she would have done differently, it would have been to take Yvie with her.

God, she  _ misses  _ her.

She sits down heavily at her desk, pressing her fingers to her temple as she stares at the seal. Yvie probably isn’t the same person Vanessa remembers. She’s had over a decade to be educated as wealthy, as  _ royalty _ , from history to diplomacy to how to wear her dress so that it just brushes the floor  _ like so.  _ Vanessa had even heard news of an engagement just last year, to a kingdom further north, and she remembers thinking that Yvie was now just that much further from her reach. 

Vanessa knows Yvie was already making her way towards that person when she’d left, her usually bright grins fading into polite smiles, and she feels another pinch of regret and loss. 

She almost doesn’t want to open it, but the chance that it’s a letter, a real attempt to reach out, is too great not to.

She pops the seal. Her hands shake as she unfolds the papers, and she reads eagerly, her heart in her throat with anticipation.

It takes her a moment to register exactly what it is, half of her convinced that it isn’t real, even as she holds the paper in her hands. She has to read it three times before she finally accepts what it says, the small, black script sending a small shock through her. 

_ BY COMMAND OF HIS MAJESTY THE KING _

_ Vanessa Mateo, friend of the royal family, is hereby cordially invited to attend the Coronation of Princess Yvette, soon to be Queen of Syracuse, on the date of June 28th, 1716. Guests are req-- _

Vanessa laughs. 

It’s all she can even think to do, the absurdity of the situation hard to wrap her mind around. Not five minutes ago she was making plans to change ports, all in an effort to avoid getting a ‘P’ branded on her cheek and probably hanged afterwards. She’s been skirting around the Royal Navy for years. Now, she’s been invited personally by their new ruler to dance the waltz with them.

It could be a good way to fuck with them. To show up at the castle gates and flash the invitation before they can arrest her, royal seal and all. The idea is tempting - Vanessa’s never been one to deny herself a chance to gloat. She could see Yvie and try to heal the old wounds that she’s stupidly reopened. But the idea of seeing Yvie fills her with more nerves than hopes, and she thinks that perhaps going isn’t such a good idea after all.

It could be a trap. A way to lure her in, get her defenceless. She doubts they’d let her take in her crew, so it would just be her and maybe one other against the entire Royal Guard. She’d be  _ fucked _ . Her friendship with Yvie has done the opposite of casting her in favor with the kingdom - her betrayal is considered one of the kingdom’s worst. It doesn’t matter that the friendship had been fading for two years before, or that she’d been seen more as Yvie’s pet than her friend. The Guard would tear into her and no one would stop them.

She looks back at the invitation, where she’d tossed it on her desk with a snort. She wonders if Yvie really had addressed it to Vanessa, if she would be disappointed if Vanessa never showed up. She wonders if seeing her in the crowd would make the crown heavier on Yvie’s head, if the act of swearing in as Vanessa’s enemy holds any weight at all.

She can’t do this.

She can’t meet Yvie’s fiance. She can’t stand in a room full of people who think she’s the worst thing to happen to Syracuse since the Black Death, and she  _ definitely _ can’t look Yvie in the eye when she knows she’ll be the figurehead behind the greatest threat to her life. She feels a small spark of anger, and she grabs onto it, willing it to flare brighter.

It does.

She left for a  _ reason.  _ And Yvie - Yvie had been part of that.

She grabs the letter and crushes it into a ball, her newfound anger behind the sheer force of it. She hurls it across the room, not even bothering to watch where it lands, whirling around to sit at her desk properly, grabbing a quill and the ledger, and bending over it with the intent to update the numbers and forget about the letter sitting six feet behind her.

She takes a deep breath, trying to focus on the way the ship rocks with the waves even at anchor, and puts the tip of the quill to the paper. She can hardly concentrate. Scarlet is usually the person who fills out the ledger, her ability to keep track of money something like that of a tax collector, and Vanessa usually only reviews it. Even still - she  _ should _ be able to fill it out, to do simple addition, but her mind refuses to cooperate.

She feels like she’s making a mistake. She feels like she’s throwing something away, missing something important. It’s bothering her, an itch at the back of her mind, and before she can stop herself, she’s reviewing the entire situation again.

It could be a trap, or it could be an olive branch. The cons definitely outweigh the pros of going. The outcome will either be a reconnection she doesn’t even know if she wants, or it will be certain death. Besides, it being a real invitation sounds more and more unlikely, especially with the current king on the verge of death already. They wouldn’t allow a potential threat to come so close to their last hope.

Vanessa has everything to lose by going, and nothing to gain. Nothing to make risking her ass worth it, except--

Shocked realization drops like a weight into her stomach.

Nothing would make it worth it, except for The Cup of Peace. Syracuse’s pride and joy. The source of its wealth, of its success, of its  _ life.  _ It’s priceless. It’s the greatest treasure in the world. The man who yields it is the man with everything. 

Vanessa could steal it. Easily. 

An event like this will have the guards spread thin. She knows the ins and outs of that castle like the back of her hand. She has years of using the secret passages under her belt, always encouraged to use them in order to prevent ambassadors and diplomats from seeing such an unseemly thing as a servant. She can pay off her debt. She can finally free herself completely, finally cut from all ties. Cut from  _ her. _

She can’t deny that she also thinks showing up to the coronation with an invitation would be a great way to fuck with the kingdom that’s given her so much pain.

If hurting the kingdom that chewed her up and spit her back out is the only way she can earn her freedom, then she is all too happy to take that deal.

...

Vanessa has never used the main gates before. 

She’d hardly left the castle when she was a kid, work and home wrapped in one, but when she had, she’d always used the servant’s door at the side of the building. They’d been forbidden from the main entrance, relegated to the longer, dustier backways.

Now, every eye is on Vanessa as she strolls through the gates, bypassing the dwindling line of sparkling ball gowns and silk waistcoats in boots she hasn’t bothered to wash in at least a year.

She’s never been more pleased with herself.

No one tries to stop her when she cuts to the front of the line, eyeing the sword she has slung across her back, the handle catching the light of the setting sun. She tips her hat at them all, not quite able to keep a smirk off of her face. 

Before, she would have been nothing. A piece of the background. A hand to help with coats and furs. Now, she’s something to be feared.

She’s beginning to think that this was a good idea, after all.

She steps up to the doorman confidently, smirking at the alarm that makes his eyebrows arch almost comically. He doesn’t turn to the guard standing beside him, though - the staff must have been alerted to her potential arrival. It kind of takes some of the fun out of slapping the invitation onto his chest, but the disgust on his face when she does so makes it more than worth it.

“There you go!” she says cheerfully, giving him a grin. “By special order of the king himself!”

He sneers at her, but his hand comes up to hold the letter in place against his uniform, allowing her to draw her hand back. “I was beginning to hope that you weren’t going to show up,” he says, revealing a haughty accent that makes Vanessa want to punch him in the teeth. 

“Well,” Vanessa says, twisting her lips. “I’m here now. You gonna let me in, or what?”

“I have to stamp this, first,” he says. The words apparently taste like lemons, because his face puckers up as he says them. “And, uh,  _ those, _ ” he waves a delicate hand towards Vanessa’s sword, and the pistols resting at her hips. Luckily, he can’t see the knife hidden in her boot. “They have to go.”

Vanessa scowls at him as he proceeds to unfold her invitation, bending over to inspect it like the possibility that she’s somehow orchestrated the whole thing still exists, and that a forged letter is what’s going to bring her down. 

“You’re not takin’ my weapons,” she tells him, and he looks up at her from beneath a raised eyebrow. 

“If you want to get even an  _ inch _ inside of this castle,  _ ma’am, _ ” he spits it out like she’s unworthy of the term (and she probably is), “then yes, we  _ are. _ ”

Irritation and anxiety ball up in her chest as the guard next to them steps a little closer, making his intent to follow through with the doorman’s threat clear. She wishes she had Scarlet with her. Or A’keria. A’keria would know how to sweet talk them into leading her straight to the Cup, no tomfoolery required. 

Unfortunately, Vanessa has not been allowed a plus one. How surprising.

“Fine,” she says stiffly. At least she’ll still have her lucky knife, the pearl handle just barely visible when looking straight down into her boot. They won’t spot it. “But you’re gonna take good care of ‘em.”

“That’s assuming we’re going to let you have them back,” the doorman says primly, and a flash of red-hot anger strikes Vanessa like lightning. The fucking  _ nerve-- _

“That’s assumin’ you’re gonna get them at  _ all,  _ you motherfucker, considerin’ I’m the only one standing here with a  _ gu-- _ ”

“Jesus Christ, what did you  _ say  _ to her?”

Vanessa feels the world dip underneath her, shock making her flinch like a gun’s just been fired.

She didn’t expect--

Her entire body freezes in place, her heart the only exception, beating so hard that she can feel it in her throat. All she can do is stare at the woman who’s just appeared behind the doorman, her maroon velvet gown just barely touching the floor and her dark hair pulled into an elegant twist.

Yvie looks different than she had at sixteen, obviously. She’s still gangly, on the edge of too skinny, but she’s grown into it. Her eyebrows are still sharp, as well as her eyes, but something about her face has softened. She looks settled into herself. She looks like a  _ queen. _

Vanessa briefly feels the urge to straighten her jacket, to tie up her shirt, and try to comb out her hair. She feels inferior to Yvie, and she  _ hates  _ it. Even when she’d been Yvie’s handmaiden, even when she’d helped the other girl dress and bathe and eat, she’d never felt like they were anything but equals.

The thought makes resentment harden in her chest.

“What did  _ I  _ say?  _ She’s _ the pirate!” the doorman says, voice loud with affront, and Vanessa tears her eyes away from Yvie, glaring at the doorman and hardening herself against the torrent of emotions swirling around in her gut. She’s come face to face with the  _ Kraken _ \- she can handle a stranger from the past. 

Even if that stranger used to be her best friend. 

“She’s only here to trick us,” the doorman continues, sneering. “You’d be a fool not to suspect her. My lady,” he tacks on hastily, his face turning a cherry red. Luckily for him, Yvie doesn’t seem to mind the lack of formality.

“She’s a guest,” Yvie says sharply, and her tone makes a bolt of familiarity strike Vanessa like lightning. “With a  _ personal fucking invitation _ . Your nose should be touching the fucking  _ floor  _ when you greet her.”

There’s a brief moment of shocked silence.

“Language, my lady,” the doorman eventually says, voice weak. Yvie raises an eyebrow.

“Are you  _ questioning _ me?” she asks, frowning severely even as her cheeks take on a dusky pink. Vanessa snorts despite herself.

She watches as the doorman stammers out an apology, affection rising in her throat. She feels fourteen years old again, watching Yvie bite into the Head Servant for yelling at Vanjie just a little too loudly.

Maybe Yvie hasn’t changed as much as she thought.

“You’re  _ lucky _ she ain’t the queen yet,” Vanessa points out, eager to pile on. “Otherwise…” she draws a line across her throat with her thumb, and the doorman’s nostrils flare with annoyance. Yvie just laughs, loud amongst the quiet titters of the guests still waiting to be let in, growing restless now that the sun is almost completely set.

“I missed you, V,” Yvie says, still grinning, and Vanessa’s heart aches. Part of her believes it.

“Can’t say the same to you,” she jokes, but her voice comes out a little softer than she wants it to. She can tell Yvie understands, even if Vanessa can’t get out the words she wants to say -  _ I missed you too, so much  _ \- and Vanessa doesn’t know if she resents the fact that Yvie can still read her like a book, or if she finds it comforting.

“Pardon me. I forgot - you’re a big, bad pirate now,” Yvie says, rolling her eyes, and then, with no regard for the pistols still strapped to Vanessa’s hips or the sword strung across her back, she grabs Vanessa’s hand and pulls her gently into the castle.

Vanessa lets her.

The halls are as long and winding as Vanessa remembers, the portraits just as looming, and cold, painted eyes follow them as they make their way to the ballroom. The chandeliers have been lit, casting everything in a warm light, dark shadows yawning across the hardwood, and Vanessa can just barely hear the noises of a celebration. She allows Yvie to tug her along for part of the way, the cold fingers of being back in this place creeping down her spine and Yvie’s a weak sort of comfort.

Being back after over a decade of freedom feels stifling, and she has to push down the growing urge to run. Has to remind herself that they’d sooner kill her than try to put her back in the servant’s quarters.

She isn’t a servant anymore. She’s independent - a  _ captain.  _ No one controls her except for herself, at least not like that.

In that way, she’s even safer than Yvie.

“So,” Vanessa starts loudly, tearing her eyes away from the paintings on the walls. She shakes her wrist out of Yvie’s grip, jogging a little to catch up to Yvie’s long strides. “What were you doin’ out there?”

Yvie frowns at her, slowing her pace seemingly subconsciously. Vanessa pretends like she doesn’t notice, although she’s grateful to not have to stretch her legs to their limits. “What?”

“You know,” Vanessa says, rolling her eyes. “Ain’t you the guest of honor? Shouldn’t you be in there, talkin’ to other princesses and shit?”

Yvie snorts at her. “It’s like you’ve forgotten who I am,” she says, and it’s clearly a joke, but Vanessa feels it like a punch to her gut.

“No,” she says, after a beat. She thinks she does a good job of sounding unphased. “I just thought all that training might have actually gotten through that big head of yours.”

Yvie tries to gasp with offense, but she ends up ruining it with a loud cackle. “Don’t forget that I can have you hanged,” she says, and Vanessa should be running cold with fear. Instead, she just laughs. She’s missed this.

“Damn,” she says, widening her eyes sarcastically. “Is that really the last straw? Tellin’ the truth?”

“It’s the worst thing you’ve ever done,” Yvie says haughtily, and Vanessa laughs.

“Worse than robbin’ Captain What’s-His-Face last year?”

Yvie raises her eyebrows. “Worse than stealing my mother’s rubies, even,” she says, and Vanessa sucks in a breath. She’d forgotten about that.

She laughs weakly, guilt curling deep into her belly. “Damn,” she says, and she can’t think of anything else to say, surprise making her mind blank. 

“I know,” Yvie teases, “so watch your mouth.”

She sounds like she couldn’t care less about it, but Vanessa knows that can’t be true. Yvie’s mother has been dead for a long time, and Vanessa had taken those rubies from her nightstand with the intent of hurting her. She can’t imagine that Yvie had just shrugged it off when she found them missing.

She’d used the rubies to pay her way onto the merchant ship that had taken her away, a final ‘fuck you’ to the kingdom that had never cared about her. Even still, regret pinches sharply in her chest. She tries not to think about the fact that she’s here now to do the exact same thing.

She takes a deep breath in an attempt to assuage the guilt curdling in her chest. She has to do this. If Vanessa wants to be free again--

She has no choice.

“Remember what we used to do at things like this?” Yvie asks, and it startles Vanessa out of her reverie. She glances at Yvie, trying to gauge how she’s feeling. She doesn’t look bitter, nothing but excitement and naked hope in her expression. She quickly glances away again.

“You mean when we stole all the tarts from the kitchens?” she asks, and Yvie’s laugh makes a smile curl up at the corners of her mouth. “Yeah, I remember that.”

“I always ate way too many,” Yvie sighs. “I always threw up afterwards. You, though, you’ve got a stomach made of iron.”

Vanessa slaps her stomach, giving Yvie a shit-eating grin. “What? Jealous?”

“Of that?” Yvie raises a skeptical eyebrow, chuckling. Yvie still remains the only woman Vanessa has heard honest-to-god  _ chortle. _ “No. It’s probably for the best that the Queen doesn’t need to eat five servings before she’s actually full.”

Vanessa lets out a little shriek, giving Yvie a light shove. “That was just because I was in the middle of a growth spurt!”

“What growth spurt? You’ve been the same size since you were like, eight.”

Vanessa gasps. “I’ve killed people for less, Miss Yvette, don’t even  _ try _ \--”

“Ooooo, the big, bad pirate is going to get me! Whatever shall I do?”

“There ain’t even any guards in here, stupid, so I’d watch that sarcasm real good.”

“Oh, and have you been keeping track of the guards? Aiming to steal that portrait of my uncle?”

Vanessa freezes for a split second.  _ Well _ .  _ Is it the most precious artifact on the continent?  _

She almost wants to laugh at how comically close Yvie is to guessing the truth.

“No,” she manages to get out without too much time passing. “No one would buy his ugly face.”

“I was thinking it could be for your captain’s cabin,” Yvie says, stopping briefly to narrow her eyes and frame her hands in front of her face, like she can see Vanessa’s cabin in her mind’s eye. Vanessa glances at the open doors to the ballroom, just a few steps away. “Right above the bed.”

“Ha,” Vanessa says, and she keeps walking. She hears Yvie jog to catch up. “You’re right. I came here to steal some new decorations.”

“I knew it,” Yvie says, and there’s a brief pause. “But actually - why  _ did _ you come?”

Vanessa’s breath catches. She’s been dreading this question. She’s always been a terrible liar - she can’t possibly look Yvie in the eye and tell her anything but the truth without her knowing. “What?”

“Why did you--”

Desperate to avoid the question, Vanessa speeds the rest of the way into the ballroom, the noise of the celebration washing out the rest of Yvie's sentence. Large hoop skirts press against her from all sides, leaving barely any room for Yvie to follow, but the guests make sure to clear a path for her when she follows Vanessa in, grabbing her wrist once again.

“See why I came out to join you?” she asks, face close in order to be heard, and Vanessa snorts at her.

“No!” she says, shaking her head, and Yvie rolls her eyes fondly. Vanessa has always loved parties, loved to be around people and booze and  _ fun,  _ but Yvie’s always preferred to be alone in her room, either with Vanessa or with a book. Stealing the tarts had been a compromise between them, an idea of Vanessa’s invention. There was the thrill for her in stealing them, and the quiet for Yvie in eating them afterwards, giggling quietly in her room. 

She remembers the secretive giggles they used to share, mouths stained with berries as they hid behind some curtain or plant, and a feeling she can’t identify wells up in her chest. She almost wants to stomp her foot with frustration, tired of looking at everything and being hit with some memory, some hard emotion that she can’t shake.

Returning here is starting to feel less and less like a good idea.

“Come on!” Yvie says loudly over the noise, jerking Vanessa’s attention back to her. “There’s someone I want you to meet!”

Vanessa nods, and she allows Yvie to lead her through the crowd, most of it parting in the presence of their soon-to-be queen and a known pirate with blood on her hands. It makes Vanessa smirk, a little, and she starts scanning the crowd for guards with a little more confidence. She’s here for one reason, and that reason isn’t reconnecting with Yvie.

No matter how much it’s starting to feel like it.

The soldiers seem to be all lining the walls, stoic faces watching the crowd closely. She grins as she counts, realizing that the majority of the king’s guard have been placed in the ballroom, likely ordered to protect the royal family from assassination. Judging by the number she’d seen outside, the rest have been assigned weapons duty. She hadn’t seen  _ any  _ in the hallways, and she can’t quite decide if the king is so hubristic that he thinks no one would dare to try anything, or if he’s too foolish to even think about the possibility.

Either way, it seems as though her luck hasn’t run out just yet.

Yvie drags her all the way across the ballroom, near the set of thrones that she’s intended to be crowned at. But instead of ascending the steps towards her father, perched on the left seat, she takes a sharp right, towards one of the servant’s exits. Near it waits a tall woman, alone with a glass of champagne, wearing a dress that shifts like silver pieces in the moonlight.

As they approach, Vanessa realizes two things.

One: this woman is the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen, with curled blonde hair and dark, severe eyebrows. Her blue eyes are hooded and piercing, her lips a dark ruby color that split to reveal pearly white teeth when she smiles at them. Just looking at her makes Vanessa’s heart flip around in her chest, and all thoughts of guards and Cups and treasure drop out of her head as she stares.

Two: this is definitely Yvie’s fiance.

“Yvette,” she greets, the name still not-quite-familiar in her pronunciation. She gives them a smile that Vanessa has seen on hundreds of other diplomats, and the butterflies in her stomach fade a little in the face of it. “Who is this?”

Yvie beams. “This,” she proudly announces, dragging Vanessa up to stand by her side, “is Vanessa Mateo. Vanessa, this is Brooke Lynn Hytes, my betrothed.”

Brooke’s eyes sear into her as they give her a once-over, and Vanessa tries not to shift under her gaze, making sure to meet her eyes when they come back up to rest on her face. “A pleasure to meet you,” Brooke says stiffly, and she gives her a small, barely there nod. Vanessa can tell she doesn’t even want to do  _ that _ much. “Miss Mateo.”

Vanessa can practically feel the disdain dripping off of her words, and she grins to prove that she doesn’t care. She’ll be damned before she lets someone think they’re better than her. “Miss Hytes,” she greets, and she does a mocking curtsey of her own. Brooke’s eyebrow twitches up, betraying her surprise, and Vanessa is once again struck by her beauty. 

“How are you enjoying your visit, Miss Mateo?”

Brooke’s tone makes it clear that she thinks the ‘miss’ should be dropped off of Vanessa’s name entirely, and Vanessa doesn’t disagree with her. The glance Brooke shoots at Yvie, though, makes it clear that the ‘miss’ will be staying. Vanessa smirks.

Brooke doesn’t want to make Yvie upset. 

Vanessa has no such qualms.

“Please,” Vanessa says, waving a dismissive hand. She almost knocks Brooke’s champagne flute out of her hand, and Brooke jerks it back, spilling a little. Vanessa has to swallow back a laugh at the glare she receives as a result.  _ Jesus, woman. Relax.  _ “It’s just Vanessa. And as for my visit - it’s nice to be off the ship for a night.”

Interest flickers in Brooke’s eyes, and Vanessa frowns at the sight of it. She’d expected Brooke to sneer at the mention of what she is, not - not  _ this.  _ “You mean  _ The Damned _ ?”

“You heard of it?” Vanessa laughs, but she tucks that interest into the back of her mind, trying not to let her eyes linger too curiously. “She ain’t as pretty right now. We still need to fix the paint job after a run in with Thunder. That whore put fuckin’ spikes on her sides! Who  _ does _ that?”

Brooke’s eyes are almost gleaming with interest, but her expression remains flat. Vanessa is intrigued by it - is she going to ask something? Is there some hidden part of her that Vanessa hasn’t sussed out? - up until Brooke actually opens her mouth to say something.

“I’ve heard of it,” she says lightly, smiling like she’s joking even as her eyes remain perfectly serious, “I have a pretty good idea what it’s like on there as well, with you talking like that.”

“Like what,” Vanessa asks flatly, expression dropping and irritation already creeping its way through her chest. Brooke’s eyebrows arch like she’s surprised Vanessa’s asking.

“Harshly,” she says smoothly, but Vanessa understands that she wants to say  _ uncivilized.  _ Understood even before she’d asked. It makes anger flare in her chest, and she sets her mouth in a straight line as she meets Brooke’s judgemental gaze.

“I’m a harsh woman,” she says, and there’s that interest again. She decides she doesn’t care anymore. 

“And what do you thin--”

“Enough about me,” Vanessa interrupts, because why bother following the rules when no one expects it of you? “How’d you two meet? Was it mutually arranged or is someone desperate for money?”

Brooke’s eyes widen, her brow furrowing, but before she can snap back, Yvie steps in with a sharp “ _ Vanessa. _ ”

It hurts more than it should, and Vanessa avoids Yvie’s gaze as she rolls her lips between her teeth, swallowing the emotion that wants to well up in her throat. She keeps a glare firmly on Brooke. “Sorry,” she says, after a beat of silence, and she risks a glance at Yvie. She knows she doesn’t sound genuine, but Yvie still looks appeased, perhaps a little relieved.

Had she thought Vanessa would make a scene? Draw her sword and threaten Yvie for a stern look?

A feeling that Vanessa doesn’t recognize balls up in her chest at the thought, and she decides it’s anger. Anger is always easiest.

“It’s alright,” Yvie says, and her eyes dart towards Brooke. “No big deal.”

They stand in awkward silence for what feels like ages, none of them quite knowing how to break the tension that’s fallen over them like a thick blanket. Vanessa takes the opportunity to scope the hallway they’re standing near for guards, resolve hardening in her chest. She reminds herself that she’s here for the Cup. Nothing else.

The minute she can get away from Yvie, she’ll--

“Princess!” a voice calls, and relief breaks over the three of them as they spot an older woman hurrying towards them, an urgent expression on her face. Her pink ball gown is so wide at the hips that it looks like she could fit two full grown men underneath either side, and her graying hair is piled on top of her hand in a towering mess of curls and flowers. Vanessa recognizes her as a duchess that comes to visit around once a month, a dear friend of Yvie’s mother that stuck around even after her death.

“Come! Come!” she calls, waving a beckoning hand at Yvie. “We haven’t seen you in ages. My husband - he wants to meet you and that beautiful fiance of yours!”

“Of course!” Yvie calls back, and she looks at Vanessa, an invitation in her eyes. Vanessa shakes her head before she can even start speaking - she knows an opening when she sees one. Besides, the last thing she wants to do is tag along with the happy couple to meet more people who will look down their noses at her.

“I gotta go p-- uh, powder my nose,” Vanessa says, stumbling over more crass language and immediately cursing herself for it. Why does she care what they think of her? “I’ll see you in a bit, alright?”

Yvie looks hesitant, but she nods. Vanessa tries not to stick her tongue out at the way Brooke presses her lips together. “Have some food and have fun, okay?” Yvie says, and Vanessa is still nodding when the duchess finally just grabs Yvie’s arm and yanks her back towards where her husband must be waiting, Brooke following reluctantly. 

Vanessa waits until Brooke’s silvery gown disappears into the crowd, and then she looks for any other onlookers. Once she determines that everyone else is either occupied or drunk, she slips into the hallway, Yvie’s wary face still burned into her memory.

She’s a pirate. If Yvie can’t forgive it, then why even bother feeling guilty?

... 

The halls are relatively empty, with everyone and their mother dancing to celebrate their new queen, but Vanessa sticks to the servants’ passages just to be safe. She darts in and out of them, depending on which is making the most amount of noise, the thrill of nearly being caught each time only encouraging her more.

The quickest way to the tower is through the courtyard, so after weaving her way back to the center of the castle, Vanessa ducks out into the garden. The moon is shining brightly, illuminating the flower beds almost as well as the sun itself, and she slips behind one of the hedges lining the perimeter to get her bearings.

With the lack of anything taller than her shoulder and the moonlight lighting everything as if the courtyard were a stage, it’s nearly impossible to sneak through to the other side. Vanessa can’t see past her hedge well enough to check for anyone, nervous despite the eerie silence. Silence doesn’t erase the risk of stoic guards at position, nor of guests trying to find somewhere private to fuck around. 

She sucks in a deep breath, craning her neck around to see past the leaves as far as she dares. 

Nothing. 

She spends what feels like years watching the wind gently move the flowers, allowing her body to settle as she waits for whoever might be out there to tip her off. She’s on a time limit - the faster she gets in and out of that tower, the less time anyone has to notice her absence - but she won’t even have that if she gets caught before she’s even in the right section of the castle.

She waits for a little while longer, holding her breath. She counts to sixty for the fifth time.

Nothing.

She has to move now, if she wants even a chance at getting the Cup. 

Deciding that the best move is to make her way across the courtyard as quickly as possible, reducing the amount of time she could get spotted, she darts out from behind the hedges and begins making her way through the garden at a brisk walk. She could run, but on the off chance that someone sees her, she still wants to retain at least a hint of an excuse. Running doesn’t provide very many.

She winds her way through the flowerbeds, her eyes fixed firmly on the archways on the other side. She’s almost--

She nearly collides with another woman, moving so quickly that Vanessa misses her face entirely, only the flash of blonde hair making any sort of impression. That, and the way she’d almost been gliding with the speed of her pace.

The movement reminds Vanessa of  _ her,  _ and a bolt of fear spikes through her at the thought as she spins around to look behind her, still moving. What was she doing here? Vanessa’s holding up her end of the deal, why would she--

The woman is gone.

There’s no sign that anyone had passed her, no trace of anyone having ever been in the garden, and Vanessa is still trying to come up with an explanation for it when she  _ does _ actually crash into someone.

She nearly falls over with the force of their collision, the person she’s practically run into head first surprisingly sturdy. She makes an undignified yelp as she leaps back, desperately trying to regain her footing and schooling her expression into something that isn’t the panic currently crawling through her limbs like ants. Hands suddenly grip her biceps, effectively pinning her in place, and Vanessa’s stomach drops down to somewhere around her ankles. Only a guard could possibly have a hold this strong, and one guard always means more to come. 

“I knew it,” someone hisses, and Vanessa’s heart rate spikes dramatically.  _ Fuck _ . She’s completely screwed, and she hasn’t even made it to the right side of the castle yet.

She’s starting to think that she never will.

“No,” she says automatically, struggling, but the guard only squeezes tighter. Vanessa tries to slow her breathing in a vain effort to not look like she’s been caught with her hand in the goddamn cookie jar, and she stills, raising her eyes up to meet the guard’s coolly and calmly, an explanation on the tip of her tongue.

Relief floods through her veins the moment her eyes meet cool blue, however, and it severs her excuse at the root, her voice bubbling up in a relieved laugh instead.

“Miss Brooke,” she says, unable to keep the relief out of her tone. “I thought you was a guard.”

Brooke raises a cool eyebrow, her expression hard. “A guard?” her tone is suspicious, and Vanessa raises her eyebrows at her, plastering an innocent expression over her face, like she doesn’t quite understand what Brooke is getting at. 

“Who else would be grabbin’ me?” she asks. “Besides you, apparently.”

She glances pointedly at where Brooke is still holding her, her eyes flickering back up to Brooke’s for her response. She’s suddenly all too aware of how close they are, close enough that Vanessa can smell the rose perfume on Brooke’s skin, see the way the moonlight shines through her blue eyes like glass. Her breath catches, and Brooke’s stutters and she’s suddenly releasing Vanessa like she’s just been burned, taking several steps back. Vanessa can only watch her, her heart pounding like she’s just run a marathon. 

“Worried about being caught?” Brooke asks, and her voice only wavers slightly. Vanessa barks a laugh. She’s normally good under pressure, but she’s sweating like a man on death row. What the fuck is happening to her?

“Doing what?” she asks, looking at Brooke like she’s stupid, even if she’s clearly the opposite. “Lookin’ at the roses?”

“Yvie doesn’t keep roses,” Brooke says flatly. “She thinks they’re tacky.”

Vanessa should have known that. She  _ does  _ know that. It just hasn’t been important for years. “Tulips, then. Does it matter?”

“It matters that you don’t seem to know what you’ve been looking at for the past fifteen minutes.”

Vanessa blinks. “I’ve been gone that long?” It had felt more like ten.

“Give or take.”

“Well. The garden’s bigger than I thought.”

Brooke’s eyebrow twitches imperceptibly. “The garden, or the castle?”

Vanessa meets her stare easily. “The garden.”

Brooke breathes in through her nose. Her expression is unmoving, but she’s still giving off the impression that she’s about to snap. “I don’t trust you.”

Vanessa huffs disbelievingly, her laugh so soft it’s barely a puff of air. “Yvie trusts me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Anger suddenly balloons in Vanessa’s chest, the truth of the comment wedging between her ribs like a knife. Yvie does trust her, and both she and Brooke know it. They also both know that trust is going to be broken. Vanessa resents her for it.

“Yvie knows me,” she hisses. “Since we were kids. Shouldn’t you trust  _ her _ ?”

“It’s been twelve years,” Brooke says flatly. “Something tells me you’ve changed a little.”

_ A lot.  _

“Not so much that I can’t be trusted,” Vanessa says, and Brooke just looks at her. Vanessa steels herself against her stare, holding her head high and stubbornly refusing to look behind her, to check if  _ she  _ isn’t still there.

A sudden bolt of panic lights up within her at the reminder, and her eyes flick to the doorway just behind Brooke’s shoulder. She’s running out of time.

She racks her brain for solutions, turning back to Brooke and holding her stare. There’s no way Brooke is letting her continue on her own. She’s paranoid to a fault - not that it’s a fault, in this case. Vanessa needs to shake her, somehow, scrape her off of her like gum off of a shoe.

“I need to use the ladies room,” she says, and Brooke looks a little startled. She’d clearly expected more of a fight. “Can you lead me to one?”

“Again?” Brooke asks suspiciously. Vanessa shakes her head.

“I got lost trying to find it,” she explains. “Can’t do that again with a guide, though.”

Brooke takes a moment to think about it, and Vanessa uses the time to admire her as she stands in the moonlight, her hair nearly white where the light shines off of it. She’s tall and broad, with strong shoulders and a collarbone on full display in her sleeveless gown. Her arms are well-toned - she’s clearly been trained in combat. Vanessa wonders what sort of kingdom she comes from, if they train her in that. It’s attractive. She wants to run her fingers over that collarbone, wants Brooke to pick her up with those arms and just--

“Fine,” Brooke says shortly, and Vanessa knows she jolts like she’s just been electrocuted, but she can’t help it. Brooke frowns at her. “Follow me.”

She turns, and Vanessa lets out a relieved breath as she leads her towards the doorway behind her, her dress almost ethereal in the silver light of the moon. Vanessa wonders if she looks just as beautiful, despite her yellowed shirt and scuffed boots. Maybe she looks dead, like the songs say the cursed look when the moon shines on them.

It’s just a myth, obviously, but sometimes Vanessa  _ does _ feel dead, like her entire life has been signed away. 

_ If you get this Cup,  _ she tells herself,  _ it won’t be. _

Once inside, Brooke leads her up the hall and to the left, just a few turns away from the tower housing the Cup of Peace. She gestures towards an old oak door, her gaze slightly softened from what it had been in the garden. Vanessa feels like she could look at her for hours. 

“Thanks,” she says, and she opens the door. Brooke catches her arm as she starts to slip inside, making a thousand tiny lightning bolts spark across her skin.

“Five minutes,” she says sternly. “Then we’re going back to the party.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Vanessa says, only a little sarcastically. She salutes Brooke with her free hand, and then she’s stepping inside of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her and locking it with a  _ snick. _

She takes a moment to calm herself down, leaning back against the door and staring at the mirror across the room. She looks out of place against the white of the walls, her dark hair in knots and random braids, and the kohl she’d smeared across her eyes yesterday smudged to absolute fuck.

She thinks that the softer look in Brooke’s eyes might have been trust. The thought makes something in her stomach pang, and she ruthlessly smothers it down, guilt threatening to bubble up to the surface. She hadn’t been expecting to break the trust of two people. 

She sucks in a deep breath. Her freedom is worth more than Yvie’s feelings, much less Brooke’s. She’d made that decision twelve years ago, and she’ll gladly make it again.

She straightens, adjusting her jacket and admiring herself in the mirror. She tilts her hat, allowing the blood red of her bandana a little bit of spotlight. She’s a pirate. She steals. She’s good at it. She just needs to remember that.

She gives herself one last nod in the mirror, and she steps towards the wall to her right, pressing her hand to the shelf there. The wall swings open, revealing a dim passageway lit by flickering torches. She knows it will curve back around, leading right to the staircase leading up towards the top of the tower.

Brooke had led her right where she’d wanted to go, and with less hassle than if she’d snuck here alone. 

She’ll have to remember to send her a thank you note.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wealth without virtue is no harmless neighbor //  
> but a mixture of both attains the height of happiness" — Sappho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !! I have finally finished chapter two! I really hope you all like it!
> 
> Special thanks to Thorpe for betaing, she is my favorite, even when she's accusing me of writing movie scripts instead of novels, and special thanks to everyone who left a comment on the first chapter - you guys have no idea how much they motivate me <3

Getting into the tower is almost too easy.

The servant’s passage leads her to a small corridor, the luxury of rich, maroon carpet abandoned in favor of hard cobblestone floors and chandeliers exchanged for torches lining the walls, creating wavering shadows across the ceiling. Vanessa takes a moment to orient herself, peeking her head out to peer to the right, and then to the left. After a few minutes of seeing and hearing nothing, she steps out, careful not to let her boot scuff against the rough floor.

She’s never been in this part of the castle before, deemed too young to be trusted so near the kingdom’s greatest treasure. Yvie used to assure her that it was because they were reluctant to leave her alone with the guards stationed there, but despite Yvie’s naivety, Vanessa had known better. She’d known how little the servants meant, even back then.

She starts moving at a soft, quick pace to the right, sticking close to the wall and keeping a hand on her sword to prevent it from making noise. She can’t help but breathe shallowly, her ears straining to catch any sort of noise. She can’t hear anything but her own clothes shifting with her steps, and it only puts her more on edge.

The hall feels endless, stretching out before her, dim torch after dim torch casting it in a strange stutter. The air is too hot, stuffy from the lack of windows and movement, and Vanessa tries not to cringe at the slow bead of sweat trickling down her back. 

She hates this.

Had A'keria or Scarlet been here, had this been any other time, she would have been whispering complaints, careless of the dangers of making noise and much more concerned with making her discomfort known. A'keria would have shushed her and rolled her eyes, and Scarlet would have stifled giggles, and they would have succeeded in giving Vanessa the reassurance she’d really been asking for, soothing the nerves that came with being the leader on a mission that could go wrong at any moment.

But they aren’t here, and this isn’t any other time. It’s better that Vanessa do this solo, no matter how much she craves the company of her crewmates.

She comes across a corner, eventually, more light shining off of the bricks from around the bend. Vanessa immediately pins herself against the wall, heart pounding as she listens for movement. This has to be the entrance to the tower, unless the castle is more prone to winding halls up here than it is on the lower floors, and if this is the entrance, then there _has_ to be at least one guard stationed beside it. They were already fools for not flooding the space with guards, especially on a night with so many strangers in the castle, but they’d have to be catatonic to leave it completely unwatched.

Vanessa cocks her head, straining her ears. She can barely hear anything - was that a slow breath? A soft voice? 

She keeps listening, her eyes firmly on the floor. If she holds her breath, she thinks she can hear breathing, rhythmic and deep. She risks a peek around the sharp corner of the wall, so concerned with being seen that she’s really only willing to risk putting one eye past the cover of the stone.

She finds herself staring not five inches away from the shining helmet of a guard.

She jumps, swallowing back a yelp and making a sort of choked gasp instead, scrambling back around the corner and fumbling for her sword. If she can just run it through him in time, he won’t be able to retaliate, or—

She pauses. 

_Or call for help._ The man should have shouted by now, should be hurling himself around at her with a cry. 

There hasn’t been so much as a sniffle.

She has to hold back a relieved laugh, the feeling creeping into the tips of her fingers and toes instead, making her feel like she could dance on air. She slides her sword back into its sheath, instead bending to reach into her boot, the ivory handle of her favorite knife a comfort against her palm. 

She can’t believe she’s getting a second chance like this.

Coiling her body like the ship’s cat before a kill, she springs around the corner, poised to slit the guard’s throat before he can make a sound. She reaches for him, and—

He’s sleeping.

She stops short, her hand still outreached, to stare at the man slumped against the wall, dead to the world. He’s breathing deeply, long inhales through his nose and short exhales through his mouth, and he doesn’t even flinch when Vanessa stomps her foot experimentally. The guard sleeping across the wall from him doesn’t move, either, and Vanessa daintily steps over the tangle of legs blocking her path, the other guard having completely sunk to the floor in his sleep.

Vanessa stops in front of the entrance, an open doorway leading to stairs going up farther than she can see. She glances back at the two guards, her gut churning as she looks at them. Something is off.

As she looks back up the staircase, every instinct in her starts to scream, begging her to turn away and get as far away from the scene as possible. She thinks about the woman she’d run into before Brooke, the one that had looked like the goddess, and she thinks she can suddenly taste the sharp, metallic tang of magic hovering in the air.

“Shit,” she whispers, as she glances at the men again. If Eris - _Willam,_ she’d told her to call her - has done this, then it has to have been to help her. She was stealing the Cup _for_ Willam, after all, to repay her - maybe Willam had just wanted to speed the process along.

Even if she hadn’t done this, Vanessa can’t turn away now. Not when the key to her freedom is just a staircase away.

She sucks in a deep breath, steeling herself against the anxiety swirling in her gut, and she begins to climb the stairs, trying her best not to think about the way the torches have all been blown out, leaving the tower in complete darkness aside from the moonlight trickling in from the occasional thin window. Her nerves only get worse as she climbs, and by the time she reaches the heavy door waiting at the top, it’s taking all that’s in her not to just sprint back down the stairs and out of this goddamn castle.

She stares at the sliver of moonlight creeping under the door, mustering up enough courage to pull at the handle. 

_Think of your freedom,_ she thinks. _Think of mom._

She opens the door.

The room behind it is eerily silent, the semicircle of guards lining the curved walls all in various positions of sleep, leaning against the wall and crumpled to the floor, like puppets with their strings cut. A beam of moonlight shines down from the roof, casting the room in a pale blue and lighting up the empty stone pedestal in the center like it was the moon itself. Vanessa stares at it for a moment, uncomprehending.

It’s gone.

The Cup of Peace is _gone._

The cold fingers of shock numb her, allowing her to stand and stare, and stare, and stare. She can’t -- if it’s not here, then where--?

She has just enough time to feel the beginning blows of disappointment and complete despair when the first guard stirs. It’s the second one that startles her into action.

“Fuck,” she hisses, stepping back out and shutting the door behind her. It slams in her panic, and she jumps again, racing down the stairs two and sometimes three steps at a time. “ _Fuck!_ What the fuck? What in the goddamned _hell_?”

She barrels down the stairs, so fast she can feel her hair streaming behind her, and she’s just about to burst out into the corridor when an arm suddenly slams into her gut, knocking her down the remaining five steps. Pain bursts in her elbow when she crashes onto the cobblestone floor, shock and a piercing ache the only things she can really focus on as she groans.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” a man says, and Vanessa manages to roll onto her back to glare at the guard who’d been waiting for her on the stairs, a smug smirk on his face. Vanessa recognizes him as one of the two sleeping guards. “Did that hurt?”

Vanessa curls her lip at him, and instead of responding, she goes for the sword at her hip, more than willing to fight her way out of this. It’s a stupid move, proof of how scrambled her brain is, because her wrist is suddenly trapped in a strong grip before her fingertips can even graze the hilt. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” a deep voice says next to her ear, and she’s suddenly being jerked to her feet, so hard she’s a little afraid her arm might be dislocated. 

“Fancy sleep spell of yours,” the first guard says, coming down the stairs too slowly. Too smugly. Vanessa resists the urge to spit at him. “Too bad you didn’t time it quite right.”

“I didn’t—”

“Didn’t know pirates could do magic,” the voice behind her says, and the other guard snorts.

“Women,” he says, and disdain crosses his features, “especially women like _her_.”

This time, Vanessa _does_ spit at him. It only lands near his feet, but she thinks the message comes across nicely. His face tells her he thinks the same.

“I didn’t cast that spell,” she says, and they both laugh.

“Yeah,” the guard behind her says, “and I’m the bloody queen.”

“Your best friend, right?” the other guard says. He’s close now, just out of reach of a kick. “Wonder how she’s gonna take this one. This is far worse than when you ran with those rubies.”

Vanessa lunges at him, but the guard behind her has her arms twisted behind her too tightly, and she’s the one who ends up whimpering in pain. “I didn’t take anything,” she grits out, looking up to glare at him, meeting his eyes defiantly.

He cocks an eyebrow. “And that’s why everyone up there is clamborin’ down here, eh? To tell us the Cup is still there, safe and sound?”

“It was already gone when I got there, you have to _believe_ me, you have to have seen whoever—”

“I did see,” the guard in front of her says, suddenly cold. The smirk is off his face, replaced with an expression of such anger and hatred that Vanessa’s breath catches. “I saw _you_.”

…

They take her to the throne room.

Vanessa struggles the whole way, dragging her heels and protesting loudly until the guard not holding her threatens to stuff her mouth with his sock. She quiets, but she still goes as slowly as she can, resentment and fury bubbling up in her chest and begging to be released somehow, some way.

She’s been framed.

It’s the only explanation. Willam, fucking _Willam_ had decided to fuck her over again, this time worse than anything she’s ever done before. It had never been enough to do the goddess’s bidding - no, she’d always had to be _entertaining_ while she did it.

Guess she hadn’t been entertaining enough. Serves her right, making deals with the goddess of chaos at age fucking _sixteen._

Ἔρις. Strife. Discord herself.

Vanessa is such an _idiot._

She’s been framed, and she’s spent so much time lying and stealing shit that no one’s going to fucking believe her. The idea of freedom is laughable now. She’d thought she’d been trapped before, but at least she’d had the sea. She’ll be lucky if her jail cell has a view, luckier if death doesn’t place her with Sisyphus. 

A sudden wave of fear and dread nearly buckles her knees in, and she takes a deep breath. _Fuck._

Her friends. Scarlet. A'keria. They’ll get her out.

She has to believe that.

They drag her through the halls, roaming guests and stationed guards that Vanessa had missed going through the secret passage staring with wide or narrowed eyes, fury and shock radiating off of them in waves. Vanessa only has a short amount of time to wonder how they know so soon after she’s been caught before she notices that she’s not the only thing they’re staring at.

Through the wide windows overlooking the sea, dark clouds can be seen twisting over the moon and the stars, plunging the kingdom into inky blackness. They hover far too close to the suddenly violent waves, which foam white with agitation. 

Vanessa is very quickly realizing that she’d never given a second thought as to why the Cup is so important, so valued. She’s beginning to think it isn’t because of the jewels rumored to be glittering on it.

Dread sinks into the pit of her stomach, her anger only a flicker of relief from it. What the hell is she about to be accused of?

By the time they reach the throne room, Vanessa’s arms burn from where they’re nearly being pulled out of their sockets, and the only thing lighting the halls are the dim, flickering chandeliers, the moon having been swallowed up by darkness long ago. There’s an eerie hush that leaves Vanessa’s heartbeat too loud in her ears, the creak of the door to the throne room startlingly loud when one of the guards pushes it open.

It reveals the party at a standstill, pale, terrified faces turned towards her in a silent accusation. Vanessa’s fear and anger burn brightly against them, and she digs her heels into the stone when the guards attempt to pull her in.

“No,” she grits out, “I didn’t— I _couldn’t have_ —”

She cuts herself off with a grunt as someone behind her kicks the back of her knee, making her crumple and allowing the guards to drag her through the rest of the way. Her protests echo off the walls as they bring her to the king’s feet, jerking her up, so that she’s standing straight before him. It makes her sneer. The last person she wants to acknowledge is the fucking king of fools, and here she is, forced into it. 

Turns out things haven’t changed so much, after all.

She tries to meet Yvie’s gaze from where she’s standing at her father’s right hand, but she keeps her eyes firmly on the ground, expression pained. She thinks Vanessa did this. Betrayal and hurt blossom in Vanessa’s belly at the thought, and the sudden urge to convince Yvie that she didn’t do it is nearly overwhelming.

She may have lost Yvie’s trust twelve years ago, but she can at least prove her innocence on _this._

“I didn’t steal it,” she says loudly, looking straight into the king’s eyes and ignoring the way they crackle like lightning. It’s suddenly important that she get the first word in. “I—”

“You tricked me,” a voice hisses, and Vanessa tears her eyes away from the king’s only to meet Brooke’s, her eyes like pieces of flint. Guilt swirls in with the rest of her turmoil. “You got me to trust you, and then you used me to steal the _one_ thing keeping this kingdom alive.”

Vanessa opens her mouth, but any and all protests die on her tongue. She _had_ done that. Normally, she’d find her way around it - pick at the one thing that had been exaggerated and ignore the rest. But Brooke has stated it so frankly that all she has left is, “So? I didn’t steal it.”

Brooke’s lips tighten. “Yes, you _did._ ”

Vanessa bares her teeth, indignation flaring bright in her chest. How had she _ever_ felt guilty for lying to this bitch? “No, I _didn’t._ It was already fucking gone when I got there, so maybe you should ask one of your guards why that is, and not _me._ ”

“They saw _you_.”

“They were _asleep_!” Vanessa shouts, and Brooke meets her flame with a cool, hard edge.

“How were they _all—_ ”

“ _Enough_!” 

Vanessa startles as the king slams the butt of his staff into the stone, the sharp rap of it loud enough to ring in her ears. She swallows the words that had already been dancing on her tongue in the wake of Brooke’s, and she watches with some satisfaction as Brooke’s jaw snaps shut, looking sufficiently chastened.

“I will _not_ have bickering and accusations flying around my head when such matters are at hand,” the king snaps, glaring at Vanessa, and then Brooke. “You are famed for your diplomacy, Duchess. Is this what your queen was speaking of so highly?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Brooke mutters, and her eyes drop to the floor. Despite her composure, however, Vanessa can practically see the anger radiating off of her in waves. She wonders if no one else had ever noticed, or if she’s simply the first to get this kind of a rise out of her.

She likes the idea of the latter.

“My apologies,” Brooke offers, and she sounds just sincere enough that the king sinks back into his seat, his expression fading into one that resembles disappointment or heartbreak more than anger.

“Forgiven,” he says, and then he turns his gaze to Vanessa. It takes everything in her not to freeze under his stare.

“Vanessa Mateo,” he says tiredly, “where is the Cup of Peace?”

“I. Don’t. Know,” she says slowly, and his expression darkens at the condescension in her voice. She can’t bring herself to care. She’s taking the fall for this either way.

Fucking _Willam._

“My guards claim you are the thief,” the king says, voice raising. “I will believe their word over a _pirate’s,_ one that’s already stolen from me, no less. Now, I will only ask once again, before we start taking fingernails.”

“ _Father!_ ” Yvie snaps, and Vanessa jerks upright at the sound of her defense.

“Words only go so far,” the king says stiffly, but some of the rage immediately leaves his face, leaving him look more haggard than fearsome. “If I can’t get the answers this way, I must resort to other methods.”

“She’ll answer you,” Yvie tells him firmly, and then she turns to meet Vanessa’s eyes for the first time since Vanessa was shoved in front of her. Yvie’s expression is imploring, and Vanessa knows what she’s going to say before she even opens her mouth. “Vanessa, please. Just tell us where you—” 

“I didn’t do it,” Vanessa says stubbornly, anger making her voice rough and loud. 

Yvie’s mouth flattens. “Then tell me why you left the party. Tell me why you snuck away from my fiancée. And tell me what you were _doing_ up in that tower.”

Vanessa opens her mouth. Closes it again. She scrambles for an even halfway feasible excuse and comes up with nothing. So. The truth it is. No matter how crazy it makes her sound. 

“I was…” she trails off, nerves nearly getting the better of her. She pushes past it. She’s not known for her daring for nothing. “I was goin’ after the Cup. No hidin’ that. But it was already gone when I got there, and I… I’m pretty sure I know who took it.”

Yvie’s face is a myriad of emotion, but it’s Brooke’s icy tone that answers her.

“Who.”

Vanessa swallows. She glances at the king, at the transparently skeptical expression on his face, and steels herself. “Eris.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“The goddess of chaos took our Cup,” the king repeats. “The goddess that we _specifically_ warded against.”

Vanessa shrugs, defensive anger building up in her chest and clenching her fists. “Look, I don’t _know_ how she got past your wards! I wasn’t fucking there, was I? All I know is that I didn’t do it, and I can’t fucking help you past that! You _have_ to believe me!”

Anger flashes across Yvie’s face for a split second before queenly restraint covers it again. Good to know Yvie’s temper hasn’t changed. “Believe _you_ ? It’s not hard to believe that the woman who stole what was most precious to me twelve years ago would steal what’s most precious to me now. Believing that you wouldn’t is much, _much_ harder.”

Each word hits Vanessa like a knife, and they all sink into her up to the hilt. It _hurts._ It’s true.

It pisses her off.

“ _Fuck_ you,” Vanessa snarls. “You think this is some sort of vendetta against _you?_ I haven’t thought about you in _years,_ though it’s nice to know that I’ve clearly been on your mind anyway.” Yvie’s expression flickers with hurt. Too bad she can’t tell when Vanessa’s lying anymore. “I took only what I needed. This isn’t any fucking different, except I got screwed over this time. I’m just as fucked as you until that shit gets found.”

“Screwed over suggests you were in on this plan,” Brooke points out, before Yvie can hurl some other insult back at Vanessa. Vanessa can’t help but be grateful. She honestly can’t tell how much more of this she can take until she starts crying. “And that someone else decided that you weren’t.”

“I was supposed to steal it for Will- I mean Eris,” Vanessa says. She glances at Yvie, memories she’d rather forget bubbling up to the surface. She softens her voice, attempting to scale herself down to ‘close to civilized’ rather than ‘completely unhinged’. It makes her realize just how sore her throat is getting from yelling. “Clearly, she had other plans. I was set up. All arrestin’ me will get you is more time for Eris to get away.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Brooke asks, and it doesn’t escape Vanessa’s notice that _she’s_ doing all of the negotiating, and not the king. She doesn’t know what to make of it. “Let you go and go off on a wild goose chase? Unlikely.”

“Of course not,” Vanessa snaps, her mind racing. She needs to get out of this, and it’s game over if she gets put into a max security cell - and considering the crime, it _will_ be a max security cell. What can she say to—

Wait.

“Of course not,” she repeats, a batshit crazy idea writing itself in her mind almost as it’s leaving her tongue, “because I’m gonna be the one chasin’ the goose.”

Three identical frowns. “What?”

“Send me to get it,” Vanessa says, trying to sound confident instead of desperate. “I know where she lives - believe me, you don’t want to lose men by sendin’ them to the edge of the world. I’m the one you can afford to lose, and I’m the one who’s got somethin’ to prove. I’ll get it, and bring it back to you, good as new.”

The king curls his lip. “You’re forgetting that you aren’t trustworthy,” he says. “Promises mean nothing to pirates. You’re just as likely to go to Fiji than stay true to your word.”

Fiji. That sounds nice. Maybe she’ll go there, after all of this. 

Vanessa clenches her jaw, plastering offense over the apathy she feels towards his accusation. “If there’s one thing people know about me, it’s that I always keep my word,” she tells him, hoping to appeal to Yvie’s secretly soft heart. “Yvie can attest to that.”

Yvie had been ready to throw her in a cell over false accusations not five minutes ago. If she believes this, then she’s nothing but a fool.

Fury catches onto the king’s expression like flame to spilled oil. “You have broken my daughter’s trust _far_ too many times to—”

Yvie puts a hand on his shoulder, cutting him off. Her eyes linger on Vanessa, expression unreadable, before she whispers something into her father’s ear. His eyes widen, a scowl coming across his face almost immediately.

“ _No,_ ” he very near shouts, and Vanessa and the rest of the onlookers jump at the sudden volume. Brooke turns to face them fully, expression full of confusion and curiosity. “I will _not_ —”

“Father,” Yvie says. “Please.”

He stares at her for a moment, and he must see what Vanessa sees in her expression - Yvie’s not giving up on _whatever_ it is without a fight - because he sighs, exhaustion written plainly across his features. “We will need to discuss this _alone_.”

Hope is a welcome warmth in the sea of emotion already churning within her, and it makes it easy to ignore the guilt that comes with it. Tricking Yvie has always been just a little too easy.

“Discuss what?” Vanessa asks, burning with the need to know, but she regrets it almost immediately when the king suddenly turns towards her, his expression alight with resentment and hatred.

“Guards?” he says, voice ringing with power.

The guards snap to attention.

“Take her to the dungeon.”

…

Vanessa gets visitors four and a half hours after she’s thrown into what has to be the castle’s nastiest, mustiest cell.

Not that she’s been counting.

In that time, she has tried seducing the guard into giving her the keys, luring the guard close enough to grab the keys from him, wiggle the bars of her window loose, and kick the uncooperative guard in the knee hard enough for him to teach her a new curse word.

She has also had four and a half hours to work herself into a broiling anger at Yvie, which is why she spits at her the minute she and her fiancée step into the cell.

It lands on Yvie’s petticoat, right in the center of one of the swirling gold patterns that line the bottom seam.

It’s not her finest moment, but _god_ does it feel good.

“Fuck you,” Vanessa snarls, to add to the anger and hurt she can see flashing behind Yvie’s eyes. She expects Yvie to snarl back, to act on the disbelieving fury she’s wearing so plainly on her face, but Brooke steps in front of her before she can even open her mouth, forcing Vanessa to glare at her instead.

The sight of her nearly stops Vanessa’s heart.

Sometime in the four and a half hours between the throne room and her arrival at Vanessa’s cell, Brooke had changed out of her dress, exchanging her silvery gown for a dark captain’s uniform, complete with gold epaulets and a sword swinging at her hip. She radiates such command and power that for a moment, Vanessa can’t think much of anything except that Brooke’s pants are far too tight to be in proper regulation.

“Back to the wall,” Brooke says, and Vanessa obeys without thinking, taking several steps backwards until her soul finally comes back into her body and stops her before she can humiliate herself further.

“Why the hell should I listen to you?” she snaps, ignoring the flush crawling across her cheeks. She keeps her eyes firmly on Brooke’s. “I’m dead anyway.”

“Who said?” Yvie asks, and Brooke makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan.

“Really?” she asks, as Yvie walks around her to approach Vanessa. “You _still_ want to do this? After _that_ display?”

“What?” Vanessa asks, backing away from Yvie. Yvie gives her a hurt look - the anger from earlier having faded somewhat. It only makes Vanessa more confused. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Yvie ignores her, instead reaching out for her again. Vanessa takes another step back, jumping a little when her shoulder hits cool stone.

Well. She ended up against the wall anyway.

“Vanjie,” Yvie says, and the nickname makes Vanessa pause.

God, she’s too fucking soft.

Yvie reaches out again, and this time, Vanessa lets her take her cuffed wrist in her hand. She only has a split second to wonder what the hell is happening before Yvie pulls a key out of her corset, the sight of it making Vanessa’s breath catch.

No _way._

“What are you doing?” she asks, as Yvie inserts the key into her cuffs. 

“Being an idiot,” Brooke says, and Yvie’s mouth twists in the way that means she’s pissed, but trying to hide it. She wiggles the key even harder, the old lock touchy.

“You don’t have to be here,” she says, voice hard.

“Doing this alone was out of the question,” Brooke shoots back, and Vanessa rolls her eyes, rubbing her wrist when the cuff finally pops open. She opens her mouth to ask what the hell ‘this’ was, but Yvie starts talking before she can actually say anything.

“She’s not going to attack me,” Yvie says, moving on to the other cuff. 

“She just _spit_ on you.”

Yvie pauses for a moment. “She’s not going to _hurt_ me,” she amends, and Vanessa’s stomach twists sourly. The other cuff pops open, and Yvie steps away while Vanessa rubs her other wrist, sore from when she’d attempted wriggling out of her bonds. 

“You don’t know that,” Brooke says, and Yvie presses her lips together, giving Vanessa an appraising look.

She doesn’t argue the point. 

Vanessa pretends the hurt she feels is anger, and she scowls, taking a menacing step towards Yvie. She doesn’t move, instead watching Vanessa with an unimpressed, flat expression. Vanessa pretends she doesn’t feel a maelstrom of emotion at the behavior and instead continues like Yvie had scrambled backwards in fear.

“She’s right,” she snarls, and she reaches for the knife stuffed in her boot, “you _don’t_ know that. So unless you wanna find out, you’re gonna tell me _what the fuck is going on._ ”

Brooke takes a sudden step forward when Vanessa slips the knife into plain sight, but Yvie holds up a hand to stop her. The arrogance of the move makes irritation twinge in Vanessa’s gut - what the hell is she _thinking?_

“Are you _stupid?_ ” Vanessa snaps. “I could have this knife in your neck in less that a fuckin’ _second_.”

“But you won’t,” Yvie says smugly, and Vanessa has half a mind to raise the knife to the hollow of Yvie’s throat, just to teach her stupid, self-sacrificing friend a goddamn lesson.

Instead, she drops her arm to the side, and gives Yvie a sharp look instead.

Again: soft.

“One day, you’re gonna get yourself killed,” she sniffs, and in almost an instant, Yvie’s entire demeanor changes, the queen melting to reveal her friend once again.

“As long as I’m doing what’s right, I don’t care,” Yvie says, and it’s such an _Yvie_ thing to say that Vanessa feels her own hard exterior crack a little.

“So what’s this then?” Vanessa asks, and Yvie smiles at the way her tone has softened. Vanessa once again feels a pang for what once was, longing briefly tightening her throat and catching in her chest.

“We’re here to offer you a deal,” Brooke says, and the moment shatters. Vanessa snaps her gaze away from Yvie to look at Brooke, hardening her face against the sudden hope that blooms in her chest.

“You don’t look too happy about it,” she observes, and Brooke defies the impossible by looking even more displeased.

“I’m not,” she staunchly agrees, and Vanessa snorts a laugh. She may be in a guard’s regalia, but it does nothing to hide the stiff politician beneath.

“Must be good, then,” she says, and she allows herself a smug grin. “At least for me.”

Brooke’s lip curls. Yvie rolls her eyes.

“It is,” she says plainly. “And you’re gonna fucking _owe_ me.”

Yeah, and she’s going to pay back everything she’s stolen, too.

She can’t help the laugh she lets out, incredulity beating out common sense, which is screaming at her to just _agree_ and do what she wants later. “Am I?”

“See?” Brooke asks, before Yvie can act on the insult that has spread across her face. She doesn’t look at Vanessa. “We can’t _trust_ her. This is a _stupid_ —”

“I’m still in the room, you know,” Vanessa interrupts, more than a little annoyed. She would just like to know the damn _deal._

“I know,” Brooke says dryly, and Vanessa is nearly overcome with the urge to slap her. 

“Are you sure? Becau—”

“Shut _up_!”

Vanessa slams her jaw shut at Yvie’s sharp tone, shock more than anything striking obedience into her. She notices Brooke straighten as well, and she smirks. It’s nice to see the ice crack, even for just a moment.

“Both of you,” Yvie continues, after a brief beat of stunned silence, “shut up and let me speak.” She’s clearly forcing calm into her voice, and Vanessa finds the fact that her temper clearly hasn’t changed comforting. 

Brooke nods stiffly when Yvie looks at her. Vanessa only shrugs when her gaze turns to her.

“ _I’m_ not the one protestin’ anything.”

Yvie clenches her jaw for a moment before she relaxes, letting out a breath far too forced to be born of actual calm. “Vanjie,” she says, locking eyes with Vanessa. Vanessa meets her gaze unflinchingly, shoving the grief and resentment she feels at the nickname behind steel walls. “I’m going to take your place.”

Silence stretches, the faint dripping of water on stone the only thing disturbing it for far too long.

“What?” Vanessa asks finally, her heart thudding in her ears. That’s not possible. It can’t be possible.

Is it?

“My father has agreed to let me stand in your place,” Yvie says, and her voice only shakes a little. She’s always been braver than Vanessa. “It’s the only way you can go and retrieve the Cup.”

The rising hope in Vanessa’s chest suddenly flattens. “The Cup?”

“Yes, the Cup,” Brooke snaps. “Keep up.”

“He’s giving you two weeks to retrieve the Cup and prove your innocence while I act as an insurance for the people,” Yvie continues, like Brooke hadn’t spoken. “If you can do that, we all go free and nobody dies.”

Vanessa feels a little like she’s floating. This is all so fucking _absurd._ “And if I can’t find it?”

“You come back anyway,” Yvie says, with far too much confidence, “and take back your place.”

Vanessa stares at her old friend, gratitude and hope and _amusement_ swirling through her chest. Yvie thinks that she’ll come back for death?

Unlikely.

“Why?” she asks instead, and Yvie’s face softens. She’s so fucking naive. Vanessa’s heart hurts just looking at her.

“Because you’re my friend,” Yvie says. Vanessa’s chest twists. “I trust you.”

“Some would call you a fool for that,” Vanessa says, aiming for a light tone and instead falling flat.

“I don’t care.” Yvie sucks in a breath, looking into Vanessa’s eyes with intensity. Vanessa has to remind herself that Yvie can’t _actually_ see into her soul. “You’re a good person, Vanj. I love you. And I trust you won’t leave me here to die.”

“But if I came back without anything, _you_ would leave _me_ ?” Vanessa asks, before she can stop herself. She needs to hear Yvie say _no._ She needs to hear her say _I would never._

“We’ll figure it out,” she says instead, and she grabs Vanessa’s wrist. It hurts. “Listen, we don’t have a lot of time. My father—”

“I’ll do it,” Vanessa says, like Yvie hasn’t just crushed her heart between her fingers. Of course Yvie would leave her. She’s only a pirate, after all. A servant. Besides, Brooke looks five seconds away from changing the king’s mind herself. If that happens - and Vanessa doesn’t think it’ll take much - Vanessa’s two weeks will turn into two seconds. “You have a deal.”

“Swear it,” Yvie demands, like it means anything.

“I swear it.”

Yvie takes a deep breath. 

“Let’s do this.”

…

Brooke ends up escorting her out of the castle.

They have to squint their eyes against the oppressive darkness of the night, the moon dull and just barely peeking out around the black, still-swirling clouds that had covered the kingdom like a thick blanket. The air is frigid, and Vanessa shivers against it, her breath coming out in small puffs of white steam. 

She recalls a lyric from an old folk song, singing about how the Cup provides crops and sunlight and all things good. She thinks that maybe it wasn’t as much of an exaggeration as she’d thought.

Brooke seems unaffected by the cold, her face severe as she leads Vanessa to the gates, motioning for the guards to pull it open. The silence she’s treating Vanessa to is nearly colder than the air around them, displeasure practically poking out of her like icicles. 

Vanessa’s never been great about silence.

She’s always been irked by it, finding it oppressive and boring, like it makes time stretch by infinitely. As she eyes Brooke curiously, most of her anger having been released the moment she’d stepped out of that cell, she realizes that this silence is no different.

“So, now what?” she asks, and her voice is loud in the stillness of the night. “You gonna kill me now that Yvie isn’t here to stop you?”

“No,” Brooke says, incredulous. They step through the gates. “I don’t just _kill_ people. I’m not like _you._ ”

“Sure,” Vanessa mutters, eyeing the other woman. She certainly _looks_ nothing short of murderous. “That’s why you were so interested in _The Damned_ , right? ‘Cause you’re not like me?”

“I-- we are _not_ having this conversation,” Brooke says stiffly, and Vanessa laughs.

“Can’t hide from the truth,” she sing-songs, and it makes Brooke whirl around suddenly, her eyes aflame.

“ _Listen_ ,” she hisses, “I am nothing like you and I _never_ will be. I have duty and honor, you have greed and - and _filth._ ”

Vanessa raises her eyebrows at the outburst. So, she has a temper. “She who denies—”

“You’re insufferable,” Brooke snaps, and she whirls back around, showing Vanessa her back as she marches down the hill towards the docks.

“I could say the same to you,” Vanessa retorts, and Brooke doesn’t respond. Irritation twinges in her gut at the silence. _Fuck me for trying to get along with the upper-crust, I guess._

“Besides,” she says, after a long stretch of nothing from Brooke, “I’ve got duty.”

Brooke snorts. “Of course you do,” she says condescendingly, and it succeeds in raising Vanessa’s temper.

“I have my crew to look after,” she snaps at the back of Brooke’s head. “I have a ship to clean. I have deals to uphold—”

“Like the one you just made with Yvie?” Brooke interrupts, voice sharp. “Planning on upholding that?”

Vanessa tries not to let her surprise show. “ _Yes_ ,” she hisses, like she’s shocked Brooke would even suggest such a thing, instead of how close Brooke had actually gotten to the truth. “That one most of all.”

“Funny,” Brooke says. “I don’t believe you.”

Vanessa scowls. “You’re gonna have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“That’s right, you’re a _duchess._ You don’t answer to nobody. ‘Cept your fiance, of course.”

“You’re doing a great job at convincing me you care,” Brooke says drily, and Vanessa resists the petty urge to kick at her ankles.

“I don’t need to prove anything to you,” she sneers, and Brooke suddenly comes to a halt.

Vanessa stops herself just in time to avoid smacking right into the other woman, tearing her eyes away from her to see that they’ve reached the docks, _The Damned_ ’s deep red hull gleaming before them.

“That’s the thing,” Brooke says, turning to look at Vanessa once again. Her expression is cold. “You need to prove _everything_ to me.”

Vanessa just stares at her, unsure of how to respond. 

_Just get on the boat, and you’re home free,_ she thinks to herself. _This will all be over soon. Fiji’s just around the corner._

“Whatever,” she says, because she’s never claimed to be the greatest wit of the seven seas. Brooke’s mouth flattens. Vanessa winks at her, grabbing the rope ladder she’d left hanging six hours ago, the rough fibers familiar under her hands.

“See you never, Miss Brooke,” she says, and she scrambles up the side of the boat, leaving Brooke standing stiffly and coldly on the rotting pier.

 _Fiji_ , she thinks, as A'keria and Scarlet rush over to her with questions burning in their eyes. _And then this will all be over._

She ignores the feeling in her gut that tells her she couldn’t be more wrong, and she tells A'keria to set a course for Fiji.

She does have duty. Her duty to herself just takes precedence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all liked it!!
> 
> my tumblr: @narcoleptic-drag-queen
> 
> the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Wt7E8MJPjyPtN3f1W5cvy?si=Edon0-qTTrCc6UMJSVyi3g

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this is my newest baby i've been working on - i'm a little bit into the next chapter, but i can't promise a date on that. i'll work diligently, though ;) i just need some encouragement to do so
> 
> special thanks to Thorpe for betaing, i love her so much
> 
> i really hope you enjoyed!! come follow me on tumblr for more drag race content and some special drabbles that don't make it here - @narcoleptic-drag-queen
> 
> playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Wt7E8MJPjyPtN3f1W5cvy?si=NEH1OLZnRVOw8Bzws5vyfg
> 
> pinterest board: https://www.pinterest.com/elizamarszale/pirate-au/


End file.
